I rhyme to pass time;
for no particular reason,
just my own personal pleasing.

8 years since you moved on
It's still so hard to believe, you're gone
I want to know how you're doing,
I want to believe you're somehow around me

The child inside me, often bangs on my heart
She always thought someday we'd restart.
Fate is such a strange thing
I don't know what you were here to teach me, if anything

Maybe it was to hold onto love even, if it's scary
Or to fall into change, I should be more daring?
I could ponder for longer, but I'll leave it at that for now.
I'll never forget you Ossie.

We don't fight
With fists or guns
But with words;
Ideas, ideals and puns.

~
It should be stark
and unprovoked,
yet fight to conceal.

It should justify
its intrusion
by layering
new narratives:
each a wonderland,
each a poison.

It should spring
like a cat,
cloud like doubt,
evaporate like
cigarettes at dawn.

It should backlight
truth, fictionalize
history.

It should undo
reality, drift into abyss
with the Lady of Shalott.

It should lead
the march into the sea,
it should die gracefully.
~

I was once curiously asked:
"Why write poetry?
Does it pay the bills?"

I replied with a smile:
"It does far more than that -
it heals."